


A Stutter

by lettertoelise



Series: After the Storm (there is another storm) [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Feels, Friendship, Hope, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Post-Episode: s03e10 Maveth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 20:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5599699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettertoelise/pseuds/lettertoelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A New Year's One Shot - Fitz and Jemma share the first sunrise of the new year</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Stutter

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! 
> 
> I've been struggling to write something to capture my impression of the mid season finale, this fic being sort of a combination of all my different attempts.  
> I hope you enjoy it and I'd be so grateful for your feedback and to know what you think!

 

Jemma could feel the stillness hanging in the air as her bare feet tracked through the Playground.  There hadn’t been much of a celebration, few left with the energy to do much besides drink a beer together in the common area and reminisce.  

 

Now she tiptoed past the last few stray bottles, long since abandoned in favor of sleep.  There were a few noise makers strewn on the floor, probably Hunter’s, and someone had even tried hanging a banner that read ‘Happy New Year’ in silver sparkly letters.

 

Jemma hadn’t lasted long when she’d realized Fitz wasn’t coming, instead she’d left a new year’s kiss on Daisy’s cheek and told her friends she was going to bed.  She’d stopped outside his door, listening for the sound of him before tapping lightly in the same familiar rhythm they’d been using since the Academy.  With the last knock she spread her palm wide, pressing into the wood, eyes closed, willing it to open and reveal him in his t-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, blue eyes warm.  But there was nothing.

 

Jemma crept up the stairs, no need for light as her feet led the way, finally resting in front of the large window on the third floor.  Her window.  Their window.  Her arms slid up to wrap around her shoulders, tight against the faint chill, and she waited in anticipation for the gold of the new day’s light to spill into the sky, the first daybreak of a new year.  

 

A smile kissed Jemma’s lips at the sound of his familiar footfall and Fitz was suddenly beside her leaning against the window frame.  

 

“Thought I might find you here,” he said, folding his arms in front of his chest.  Jemma snuck a look at him - still in his clothes from the night before, rumpled button up diligently tucked into dark trousers.  Fitz yawned, a hand sweeping through his tussled hair, and although his injuries were beginning to heal, she still caught him wincing as he repositioned himself.  

 

“Do you remember the first New Years we celebrated together?  Seventeen years old, sneaking drinks at the Boiler Room?” Jemma asked, grinning at the memory.  They’d stumbled back to her dorm afterward, Fitz under the guise of protecting her from campus riffraff, and collapsed on Jemma’s bed.  The following morning they’d woken with their first hangovers and spent the first day of their first new year as best friends drowning in tea and Dr. Who.  

 

Fitz was staring straight ahead into the already expanding horizon, the sun stretching it’s red and orange threads across the sky.  His expression was soft, if unreadable, mouth set in the same line it had been since Maveth.  

 

The planet had a way of holding a person hostage, stealing a part of them for itself.  Since returning, Fitz had been trying his best to reassure her, but something was wrong.  It was almost as if he were hollow, his touch lacking commitment, his warmth void of its former urgency.  It was clear in the shadows that haunted his eyes and the limp way his smile hung on his face that Fitz had also not come back whole.

 

At his silence, Jemma’s smile began to fade.  She felt the pin prick of tears behind her eyes, now so used to crying, they succumbed easily to the flood.

 

In the same automatic way he’d always embraced her when she crumbled, Fitz’s arms were around her, pulling Jemma into him as her head sought out his chest and the comforting beat of his heart.  

 

“I’m sorry, Jemma,” he’d said when she’d melted into his arms outside the pod after Maveth.  Somehow she hadn’t needed him to explain - Will had died the moment she’d reached the portal.  His absence was just the stinging confirmation of what her heart had already known.  She had gone slack in Fitz’s arms as the release washed over her - months of worry and guilt, the torture of uncertainty met with the finality of his death.

 

As Fitz held her now, before the sunrise,  the two woven together and illuminated by the light of the sun bleeding into the far reaches of the sky, Jemma cried a year’s worth of tears.

 

She cried for Will who had not lived to see the sun again.  She cried for Andrew and the Inhuman lives he’d taken.  She cried for her contribution to his story - at the loss of his humanity and the loss of a friend.  

 

But in the end Jemma cried for Fitz, as he enveloped her in the strong arms that held her against the force of her guilt and the tide of her emotion.  She cried in relief at his return and in heartbreak at his pain.  She cried in want of the ‘more than that,’ for the missed opportunities and the impenetrable distance entrenching itself between them.  She longed to cover his face with kisses, to revisit the trail she’d left in the med pod all those years ago and this time never let go.  But when Fitz pulled away, his eyes were dark.  

 

Turning back to the window, he whispered, “I’m afraid of what the new year will bring.”

 

The sun was high in the sky and the stirrings of movement below were starting to sound their way up the stairs.  Neither of them moved.  

 

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of watching the sunrise.”  Jemma said finally.  Then, edging closer, she took Fitz’s fingers up in hers, spreading them to slide hers in between.  Looking up in surprise he met Jemma’s determined smile.  

 

“Whatever the new year brings, Fitz, we’ll face it like we always do.  Together.”

 

He didn’t respond right away, instead letting a gust of air escape his lungs.  Then he twisted his head to look at her, all glassy eyes and shuddering breaths.  

 

“Happy New Year, Jemma,” he said softly.

 

“Happy New Year, Fitz.” 


End file.
